Embers
by Pearl Gatsby
Summary: afterward, Rey holds him. :: ANGST (but no character death). TRoS trailer-based speculation. lemon.


**Annnd now for a weird angsty drabble connected (tenuously) to the other two fire-themed drabbles I wrote ("Spark" and "Kindling") with a touch of (nonsensical?) **_**TRoS**_** speculation based on the recent trailer. ADULT CONTENT.**

**.**

She's sore but sweetly so as they catch their breath, chests heaving, bodies still joined. His forearms are braced on the bed on either side of her, holding him up, and she anticipates the sensation of his naked chest pressed fully to hers again. But when that doesn't come—when the delay seems too long to be natural—she opens her eyes just as something wet drops onto her face.

At first she thinks it might be sweat. She's a little sticky herself, overheated all over—but then her eyes meet Ben's and even in the semi-dark she can see that he's crying. Hovering just over her, tensed even though he's just spent himself inside of her, his perfect lips part just slightly as he takes in a shaky gasp of air and tears drip from the tip of his nose onto her face.

Before Rey has a chance to say anything he's rolling just to the side, half-on top of her, gently extracting himself from her and pressing his face into the pillow next to her. The arm he keeps slung around her tightens, pulling her closer to him, and then his entire body sets to trembling.

Rey moves to put both of her arms around him, but he takes her movement for something else. As she tries to free the arm beneath him, he is sitting up, trying to move away.

"No!" Rey calls out, her voice louder than they both expected, and they freeze. He's up on an elbow again, but his face is tear-streaked, haunted. He looks as if he's about to bolt.

Rey moves her left arm up around his back, tugging him closer again until his head rests against her shoulder. He relaxes back into her and then the tremors start again, accompanied this time by a soft whimpering that breaks Rey's heart. She holds him there, combing through his hair with her left hand and rubbing his back with her right.

This is the part where she might whisper to him, "Ssshh," or else offer reassurances. She might whisper, "It'll be okay," or, "It's going to be alright." But she doesn't.

For a time, all she could have hoped for was to actually be in the same room with him without the pretense of being in battle. Through the Force bond they'd exchanged hungry kisses, exploratory touches, fantasies of intimate contact not separated by light years. These moments are stolen and fragile: both of them expected back to their bases within less than a day, both of them already pushing it by lingering to taste and pleasure each other's bodies.

Rey wants to tell him "It'll be okay." _Force_, there's nothing she'd love more to say—it all feels so much more possible after the moments they've spent in the chambers of Ben's mind, hunting down and rooting out the darkness from every corner. It all seemed so _real_, the moment when she swung her lightsaber at a shell wearing the mask of his grandfather—when they _both_ swung and took it down in tandem, when finally the red light of the saber in Ben's hand flickered to blue.

But there is still work for him to do from the inside, a series of steps he has to take, information he has to feed to Rey without being detected. Ben is _strong_—Rey _knows_ it—but they both know his organization has begun to lose faith. They both know Dameron won't be welcoming, should Ben deliver himself to the doorstep of the Resistance. And secretly, Rey knows—there's something deeply unsettling deep inside of her, a tendril, a whisper, that twists into her subconscious little doubts at every turn. _What if this isn't me? _it/she asks. _What if my destiny isn't the light?_

She presses her lips to the top of Ben's head, trying to take a deep breath without letting her own chest shake, blinking away at the tears gathering in her eyes. Ben's crying has slowed but he still clutches her for dear life. His voice is deeper, waterlogged, when he speaks: "I'm not ready to go back."

_The warmth and strength of his body next to hers. The searing heat of his lips when they explored her body, the look of reverence in his eyes when he'd first entered her. The secret he'd whispered to her just before they left his mind, just before they built up the walls again—his voice low and real, his breath a puff against her temple, his arm protectively around her back, pulling her in close to him—"I love you."_ Rey can't stop her own tears as she holds his head against her shoulder. She hasn't given him an answer, _can't_ give him anything like an answer or any real comfort. She's losing her trust in the light and wonders if he senses it, if he feels it through the bond, through her carefully-built walls. This could be the moment to tell him. To beg for help, now that he is finally free.

They have to get up now, to dress and fly back, two different directions. Rey closes her eyes tight, burying her fingers in his hair. There is so much she could say. So much she _should_ say. But all she says is this: "I know."


End file.
